To Weave a Wish
by Roxie Zephyr Jocelyn
Summary: It was a childhood ritual; one that Wolfram von Bielefeld held dear to his heart. This was how Wolfram saw the world and the people he loved through the lens of flowers and a simple wish.


A/N: This is a fic done in Wolfram's POV as he carries out a ritual lost in time… As usual, the edible characters of Kyou Kara Maou do not belong to me but to their esteemed creator. ENJOY!

Info:

Maou – the Japanese term for 'demon king'

Mazoku – the Japanese term for 'demon'

-heika – a suffix that is added to the back of a name, denoting a person's position as king

To Weave a Wish

As Wolfram knelt by the flowerbed and carefully picked his chosen blossoms, he couldn't help the nostalgic smile that played on his lips. This was something he used to do when he was very young. Being an illegitimate child and always shunned by his father, he had been grateful that his mother and brothers accepted him. He loved his odd family with all his heart and often wished upon the many wishing stars that rained down on Shin Makoku that they would be able to stay together forever. Then, his maid introduced to him a fun way to symbolize this fervent wish in a tangible way – by tying all their namesake blossoms together and throwing them into the fountain, around which they were planted; a wishing well, a personal fountain of hope. He had made it a weekly ritual, even going so far as to wander out in the middle of the night to do it.

Then, sadness tinged his smile. But, as the years went by, things began to change. His mother became more and more preoccupied with ruling matters. Gwendal, busy with the political and military affairs of Shin Makoku, left him and Conrad to entertain themselves. And then, there was Conrad's past of being a half-human. A heavy sigh of escaped his lips. He had greatly regretted that decision to distance himself from his brother. It became a wedge between them, like the throne for his mother and his duties for Gwendal. Wolfram had adopted a spoilt brat attitude then, a defense mechanism to cope with loneliness. Then, the war took away his personal maid and the last vestiges of his childhood, bringing in its wake death, destruction, hatred, prejudice, pride and pettiness. He had not been 16 but he had grown up. Of course, the weekly ritual of blossom tying had long been forgotten.

Still, Wolfram was quite glad that even though he had forgotten his childhood ritual, he had not forgotten to tend to his mother's garden. He had spent many blissful times, simply tending to the garden, plucking ravenous weeds and coaxing the flowers to blossom. It was amazing to see such life when all he had seen since the war began was death. It was his paradise, a place where he could stop trying to fool himself, stop pretending and simply 'be'. His fingers had not lost their touch as they nimbly danced between stalks, carefully and gently breaking off the stems. He picked the usual flowers for both of his brothers and for him before deciding on a white baby breath and a yellow sunflower. 'How fitting,' he couldn't help but muse. The colour white symbolized purity, innocence and childlike wonder. The baby breath was a flower, so delicate and gentle that its seeds could be carried off by a puff of wind yet so tough and strong that the blossom would stand even in the harshest of winters. This flower was meant for Greta. Despite all she had been through, seen and heard, she was still pure, innocent and untainted by the judgmental world. Yet, she was strong, so much stronger than he ever was. She had faced betrayal, loneliness, anguish, heartbreak and death, all his greatest fears and worst nightmares, yet she still remained unbroken. She had endured the harsh winter snows and lived to see spring.

Then, he turned to the sunflower. Its golden petals glistened in the moonlight becoming a torch for lost souls. The flower was humongous compared to the others, shielding the more delicate blossoms from the wind, rain and even shine. As the wind shook its head, its seeds were scattered on the ground around it, burying into the earth to become new sunflowers in the future. This flower was meant for Yuuri. Shibuya Yuuri. A mazoku of the Earth who became Shin Makoku's Maou by Shinou-heika's will. He was a wimp. He was Wolfram's fiancé. But, above all he was hope, the guiding light for all the lost and prejudice humans and mazoku, Wolfram included. He had to be protected, seemingly defenseless, yet it was he who was their protector, shining a light and banishing the darkness of their hearts and minds. His beliefs of peace, justice and love, his words of wisdom and encouragement, his fight for peace, everything he stood for, were deeply buried in their hearts, changing them all day by day and building a new nation of righteous leaders. He was their Maou. He was hope. He was the sunflower of Shin Makoku.

With one hand, he untied a pink ribbon from his frilly nightgown, enjoying its silky caress on his calloused fingers. One by one, he weaved the ribbon around the flowers before pulling it firmly. Before he could tie the knot however, his critical eye told him that something was not right. Something was wrong. Then, he picked out a single flower. Throwing that blossom to the ground, he scrutinized his impromptu bouquet again. Yes, the bunch looked much better. Finishing his task, he breathed deeply, closing his eyes as a whisper of a wish crossed his mind before throwing the precious bundle into the water. His eyes never left the flowers as ripples surrounded them, welcoming them into the embrace of the water. Only when he saw nothing but a watery reflection did he leave.

A single flower laid on the ground, picked-out from the rest, isolated, forgotten – the Beautiful Wolfram.


End file.
